Santa Claus's Arc

Chapter 6 of 5

The Rex landed on another roof, and the bells rang out sharp and clear. A light flicked on in the window below. Santa froze. A child's face pressed to the glass, searching the dark. The beast's collar had betrayed him. One more peal and the whole street would wake. He had the speed now, but the noise would ruin everything. Ginger Breadwell came running across the drifts below. She had fed this dinosaur and knew his every habit. "The bells," she called up, breathless. "We never march him at night. Take them off!" Santa reached for the strap. His thick gloves slipped on the frozen buckle. He pulled, but the leather had stiffened in the cold. The bells swung and chimed with his every tug. Another window glowed below. "I can't free it," he said. "They're frozen shut." "Then stuff them," Ginger said. She dug in the snow and found nothing soft. "Snow won't hold. It'll pack and fall out." Santa looked down into the yard. A child's sled leaned against a fence, wooden slats bright between polished runners. An idea came. He climbed down, dragged the sled up, and braced it across the Rex's shoulders. He lashed it to the collar with the strap from his sack. The wooden body pinned the bells flat against the dinosaur's chest. "Jump," he told the beast. "Soft." The Rex sprang to the next roof. The bells pressed into the wood and made only a dull thud. No ring. No clang. Below, the lit windows stayed quiet. No new ones woke. Ginger Breadwell grinned up at him, her painted cheeks round. "Now you're quiet. Now you're fast. Go, before the sun does." Santa rode on, roof to roof, silent at last. He dropped down each chimney and climbed back before the next leap. The sled held firm. No child stirred. He crossed a dozen homes, then a dozen more, faster than his boots had ever carried him. But the sled was not built for a dinosaur's weight. By the fortieth roof, a wooden slat cracked. By the fiftieth, the runners bent. On a long jump, the lashing snapped. The sled tumbled off into a snowbank, and the bells sprang loose and loud. Santa hauled the Rex to a stop on a high roof. He looked back at the broken sled, far behind in the dark. He looked ahead at the homes still waiting, more than he could count. The town stretched on for miles. The quiet trick was gone. The gag he had rigged lay in pieces below. He had bought himself fifty houses of silence, no more. He gripped the fur collar and caught his breath. The bells hung free again, ready to wake every child left. He needed a new way, and the sky was already turning gray at its edge.